Lord Ruin (23 page)

“I’ll just tell Mary I’ve been called away. My carriage is outside. Meet me there.” He nodded, and they parted ways.

“What’s this about?” Durling asked when he’d joined her in the carriage.

She showed him Camilla’s letter and explained the matter and the trap she thought had been set for Richard. “Lord Thrale will have been lured into coming, Mr. Durling, with Cynssyr to arrive just in time to find him with the poor girl. No doubt the murderer intended to brutalize her first.”

Durling rested a fisted hand on the edge of the window. “I don’t approve of you being involved in this. Cynssyr ought to know better.”

“While I appreciate your concern, you are not my husband, Mr. Durling. Besides, Cynssyr trusts me.”

He gave her a depthless look. “You were right to fetch me. A neat trick, if you’re right. Girl or
no girl, my Lord Thrale showing up at all looks bad. It’s fortunate her mother discovered the letter.”

“What if some other girl hasn’t been as lucky?” She saw from Durling’s expression that he had already asked himself the same question. “What if he’s found someone else?”

He leaned out the window and shouted, “Faster, John Coachman. Faster!”

The address was a modest flat off Tottenham Court Road. Dead and shriveled leaves remained of the geraniums that had once grown in a window box. Though the windows were shuttered, and the knocker had been removed, the door was unlocked. Durling put out an arm, blocking her way up the stairs. “Stay outside. You there!” He waved to Henry. “Watch out for the duchess.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Durling.”

“Look here,” they heard someone shout. “All I want to know is what the blazes are you doing here?”

From the landing, Anne heard Cynssyr calmly reply, “I’d rather have the answer from you.”

She caught Durling’s arm and tucked her hand under his elbow. “Remind me,” he said with uncharacteristic solemnity, “to tell His Grace that a husband must be firm enough with his wife so as to obtain her complete obedience even when he is not present.”

“Cynssyr,” she said softly and with complete innocence, “is firm precisely when a husband ought to be.” At Durling’s sharp look, she gave smile of wicked innocence.

He colored. “Ahem.”

They strolled into a darkened parlor like a couple without a care in the world. Manifestly, this was not a house in which anyone lived. Sheets covered the furniture. Carefully rolled up carpets lined the floor along one wall.

“Oh, I say,” Durling said with a wooden surprise not meant to fool anyone. “Sorry to intrude, Cyn old man.”

The marquess of Thrale whirled. “What now?”

“Anne.” Cynssyr faced her. “Always a pleasure to see you, my dear.” His expression spoke volumes, and Anne’s anxiety on that account vanished. He knew she would not be here except for good reason. A tightness in her chest eased. “And Mr. Julian Durling.”

Thrale bowed to her. “Duchess.”

“Richard.” Anne nodded curtly. “Is anyone else here?”

The marquess threw up his hands. “I should very much like to know if there is.”

“Have you been upstairs yet, Cynssyr?” she asked.

“No.”

She pushed Durling toward the stairs. “Mr. Durling, have a look.”

“Right-O!” But he didn’t move until Anne prodded him yet again.

“What the devil is going on here?” Thrale demanded, looking daggers from Cynssyr to Durling on his way to the stairs.

Ruan saw Anne to a chair before drawing one of the heavy curtains. Late afternoon bathed the room in gray light. “Much better.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. His fingers gently caressed the nape of her neck.

Hands on his hips, Thrale glared at the open door. “This just tears it. I oughtn’t to be surprised. Do come in, Bracebridge.”

“Thank you.” Devon entered and arranged himself on a chair, not bothering to uncover it. He slouched, a deceptively casual position, Ruan knew. “Thought I’d follow when I saw Anne come with Durling there.” Dev spared a look for Thrale. “As for him, I lost him. Don’t know how he slipped away, or even when.” He lifted a hand. “Now, Thrale, I don’t mind if you do answer Cyn’s question. What are you doing here?”

“I own this house.”

Ruan took up position behind Anne’s chair. “Do you, indeed?”

“I own this house, but as you can see, I do not use it. It is presently let out. The family to whom the house is leased has gone to Scotland to sit vigil at the side of a relative I was given to understand was quite ill. This afternoon I received notice someone had broken in and might be living here illegally. I came to investigate. And find you.”

From upstairs, Durling shouted, a high-pitched cry of alarm that made Anne’s blood run cold.

Thrale, Devon and Cynssyr rose as one. “Mr. Durling? Where are you?” She led the way upstairs.

Durling met them near the top of the stairs, white-faced. “It’s Cyril Leander’s girl.” He stopped Anne from going past him. “There’s nothing to be done for her.” His voice tightened. “Nothing.”

“I’ll fetch the constable,” Devon said.

“I had a message,” said Thrale. “From a child off the streets who claimed to be from my solicitor. Said I needed to come right away.” He sat on the stairs, palms on his knees. “But I was late getting here.”

“Your hands are bruised, Thrale,” Ruan said. “Mind telling us what happened?”

“What?” He lifted his hands and flexed his fingers. The skin was broken in several places. “I was at Gentleman Jack’s.”

“True enough,” Dev said. “That’s where he was when he disappeared.”

“Got the worst of my bout, I’m afraid. I was relieved when that dashed boy interrupted.” Slowly, he looked from Durling to Ruan to Anne. His brows drew together over tempest-gray eyes, but he calmly shook his head. “No. I did not do this.” Every word came out clear and distinct.

“Take the duchess home, Cynssyr,” Durling said in a shaking voice. “She doesn’t need to see this.” He came down a step looking ready to collapse, himself.

“I shall deal with this,” Ruan said.

Thrale shot to his feet, body taut, fists clenched. At the very moment Anne was sure he would strike out, he suddenly controlled himself. With terrible effort, he said, “I have never struck a woman. Ever. But I won’t say as much about a man.”

“We arrived at the same time, Ruan,” Devon said.

“He could have left and come back.”

“Could have.”

Anne was grateful for Cynssyr’s hand on her shoulder, for she could not imagine Thrale was so vile a man, and yet it seemed she must.

“His hands give him away,” Durling cried. “They’re bruised and bloody, and that poor girl—”

“If you are searching for a man capable of such a monstrous act,” said Thrale, “you should consider John Martin. And you, Cynssyr, have more reason than most to understand why.”

At Anne’s questioning look, Cynssyr explained. “As I said, he was briefly under my command in Spain. If he’d not cashed out on his own, I’d have had him cashiered. Not after being discovered rifling the pockets of the dead or near dead, though I argued that was grounds enough, nor for his acts of brutality against the Spanish, particularly women, but for failing to lead a charge after a direct order. Worse, I found him drunk afterward, and upon interviewing several of his men could only conclude that he’d been drunk during battle, too.”

“I often thought my father would have preferred him for his heir.” Thrale gazed at the three men, then at Anne. “Martin is his natural son. But you know that.”

“Yes,” said Durling softly. “But it was not Martin who did this.”

“His mother was married.” Thrale examined one bruised fist, running fingers along the ridges of a gash with an oddly languid care. “A farmer’s wife. Common as they come, but my father always did like them close to the earth. They passed off the child as legitimate issue of her marriage. My father paid for his education and then for his commission, too. I was glad to see him in the army for it got him out of the parish. Nor was I surprised to learn he’d cashed out. He wrote me for money a while back, a few months since. I replied his commission was inheritance enough, and t’was not my fault if he’d squandered it. My father had been giving him money off and on for years and once he passed away, that stopped.”

“But he’s in town now.” Anne thought of the exquisite clothes. “How does he afford it?”

“He was a charming boy,” Thrale supplied. “Carefree, a daredevil with whom no one could long stay out of sorts, and I expect that’s not changed. There’s always someone taken in by him. But it won’t last. For all his gifts; charm, wit, education beyond his station, John is a wastrel. Just like my father. My father paid to get him out of several unfortunate scrapes, most of them involving women.”

“Just so,” Cynssyr said. And Anne could not help thinking of the girl upstairs, the life forever gone from her.

“Yes.” Thrale glanced at the top of the stairs. “Just so.”

Until now, she’d been able to think of what lay upstairs as an abstraction. A regrettable death for which she was very sorry. It no longer felt abstract. That young girl’s life was tragically gone, and Anne wondered how her parents were to survive the loss. She thought of her own child, as yet unborn, of her sisters and how her heart would break if anything happened to them.

“Anne?”

She turned her heard in the direction of Ruan’s voice and found she could not clearly see him for the tears. She reached for him but his arms already surrounded her. “Cynssyr.” And then she was ill.

“My wee wren,” he whispered to her. He gave her his handkerchief. “Henry will see you home,” he said when she had done what she could with the handkerchief and a pitifully small amount of water. Before she could protest, he held up a hand and said in a voice so cold and so utterly lacking in compassion for that poor dead child, a chill went up her spine, “Wait for me at Cyrwthorn, Anne. I shall come home presently.”

“Yes, sir.”

The dinner hour had long passed before he returned. She was in the front parlor embroidering more roses on a shawl for Lucy. The work provided a way of keeping her thoughts from wandering to Thrale and what he might prove to be, or to her husband and the sort of man he was. Or wasn’t. Her hands stilled on the fabric as she listened to Cynssyr mount the stairs. Then, just when she was certain he would walk past, he was there. A tall, lithe shape in the doorway. “Have you dined?” she asked, heart pounding because that was always the effect he had on her.

He came in. Every stitch of his clothing was perfect, every movement of his body indisputably masculine. His eyes alone betrayed his only flaw. They were cold and hard. “I’m surprised you’re still up.” Even his voice felt cold. His slow entrance eventually brought him to her side.

“That poor girl,” she said in a choked voice.

“I don’t want you ever to take such a risk again. You must promise me you’ll let me manage this affair from here on out.”

“You asked for my help.”

“I was wrong to involve you in this,” he said, lowering himself next to his wife on the sofa. Though no stranger to grief and sorrow, he didn’t think he’d ever reacted so strongly to someone else’s emotions. Anne wasn’t ever to hurt like that again. He wouldn’t permit it. He couldn’t bear it. The horror of the Leander girl’s death still resonated in her. At Fargate Castle, she would be safe. She peered at him, and after a moment, he heard her catch her breath, a sound of recognition, of what he’d no idea.

“Were you the one to tell her parents?”

“Yes.” He took a section of the shawl in one hand and let the silk flow through his fingers. Tiny stitches formed roses so perfect he half-expected them to move. “Exquisite work, Anne.”

“Cynssyr.” She touched the edge of his jaw, and Ruan felt the now familiar leap of passion. “Has there ever been anyone to comfort you?” A pair of tiny scissors fell to the floor. “Leave them.” But he bent to retrieve them for her anyway. She took them. “I’m glad you involved me,” she said fiercely. “We will find this monster and stop him.” She leaned her head against his chest, placing one hand over his heart. “Promise me vengeance, Cynssyr.”

Cornwall. Yes, he would send her to Cornwall just as she’d asked. But even as he planned how and when he would tell her of his decision, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to make so selfless a move. “Yes, Anne,” he breathed into her hair, “we will have vengeance.” He slipped his arms around her and brought her close.

Anne listened to his heartbeat. She knew exactly the danger he posed, but if he would hold her like this, tenderly, as though he cared and felt deeply for her, she might just walk headlong into the inevitable heartbreak. Taking one of her hands in his, he kissed her palm. Her body reacted, she opened to him like one of her embroidered roses come to life.

Then he kissed her, not opening his mouth until she leaned into him and opened hers. The warmth flamed into heat. She didn’t care if he did break her heart. When at last he drew back, she said, “How can we, when that poor girl lies cold and alone?”

“How can we not?” Gently he covered the back of her neck with one hand. “No, love, don’t close your eyes. Look at me.” She could scarcely breathe. His fingers stroked over her. “Does this frighten you?”

She shook her head. Not in the way he meant, anyway.

His fingertip brushed across the aching peak of her breast. She felt melting, bone-deep heat in response to that touch. “This material is very thin. I can feel you almost as if you were naked in my hands.”

Every nerve in her body was on fire. His thumb rubbed over her nipple. Her eyes popped open. A familiar panic rose when she saw the half-lidded green eyes and his sleepy, almost drugged, concentration. She would lose herself to him if he made love to her now and that frightened her enough to pull away.

“What?” He gazed at her with a lazy curiosity but she saw smoldering fire underneath.

“I don’t like the way that makes me feel.” Lord, his hand was still on her, still touching.

He stopped his caress. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Are you afraid I will hurt you?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me.” In fact, she feared she understood all too well.

“Anne,” he said softly. “Anne, you are a passionate woman who denied her nature for too long. For years you had to. No longer. You’ve no need for dreams, now.” He took her head between his hands. “Let go, my dearest heart. Let go and I will catch you however far you fall. Let go, and I will show you a whole other world.”